Blue Rectangle
by DetectiveSilence
Summary: The Doctor and Sherlock are friends, but he is unaware of the TARDIS - "As if on cue, a whooshing, grating noise pierced the silence of the flat, and an unexplainable wind swirled around the room, making the end of his blue dressing gown billow around. And then he could see the faint outline of a blue rectangle, fazing in and out of existence in the middle of his now untidy flat."
1. Chapter 1

**Sherlock and John already know the Doctor. Sherlock met him before he met John, and he had helped him, and vice-versa, on numerous cases. The Doctor is just visiting them (by accident).  
It's just a scene out of a much bigger story which I will never get around to writing, so it may seem a bit dis-jointed. But I really like the idea, because not many people write it like this, so just bear with me.**

Sherlock was alone in the flat. John and the Doctor had gone out to buy groceries. At least, that's what John _thought_ would happen. Unfortunately, (for John at least), John didn't know the Doctor well enough to know going shopping with him was a bad idea. Just going out anywhere was a bad idea with the Doctor. Especially in his eleventh reincarnation! He was like a highly intelligent four-year-old. In fact, sometimes_ he_ thought he was a four-year-old child!

Anyway, John and the Doctor had gone out to buy groceries (as well as some sweets, cat toys, flour, and whatever else caught the Doctors attention). That meant that there was no one to talk to, no one to annoy, no one to invade the privacy of, and no one to ignore. That, for him, was the_ bedrock_ of boredom. At least normal people were silly enough to be worth deducing.

But _no_, he had the flat to himself. He had to deduce the _desk_, the_ pictures_, the _umbrella _that he had stolen from Mycroft. How utterly insignificant and dull those deductions were.

Desk: a gift from one of Mrs Hudson's friends, 4 years old, numerous coffee and tea mugs dumped carelessly on its battered surface. It was handmade, not shabbily, but not high-quality either. Boring.

Skull Picture: one of his, given to him by an old client some years ago. Not British made, probably German, but certainly not from China, too expensive. Marks on the top left corner, and the bottom left corner, from some explosive experiment most probably. Not worth re-selling, but he wouldn't want to sell it anyway. Not sure why.

Mycroft's stolen Umbrella: made early 1950's, British, classic wooden curved handle, high quality, expensive. Looked after well, no scuffs, or rips, even though Mycroft has had it for some 7 years. Perfect blackmail material, but best not mentioned too soon.

His eyes gleamed at the opportunity of getting the upper hand on his nosey brother. But, he felt his heart sink when he realised he would need his brothers resources at some point, and should keep it until then. Unfortunately, that meant no blackmailing today. He would only regret it if he did.

He sighed. There was nothing to do in his boring, _boring_ flat. He _detested_ boredom, but there was nothing to do. He would have to just lie on the sofa and wait for John and the Doctor to come back. He closed his eyes and put his hands in the 'thinking position', trying to guess what useless oddities the Doctor would have brought. It was pointless, as he had neither the data nor the will power to make anything more than an educated guess, but it occupied the mind, for a short while at least.

Sherlock jumped out of the sofa suddenly. There was something wrong. The air didn't feel right, he could sense something that shouldn't be there, but he couldn't explain how or what it was. As if on cue, a whooshing, grating noise pierced the silence of the flat, and an unexplainable wind (for it had no source or viable exit) swirled around the flat, making the end of his blue dressing gown billow around his feet. And then he could see the faint outline of a blue rectangle, fazing in and out of existence in the middle of his now untidy flat.

**Like it? If you would like me to continue it, please leave me a review saying so.  
Leaving a review is good for your mental health, as proven by that doctor Nick Riviera from The Simpsons.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two, and I was listening to sad, broken music as I was writing this, so sorry. I know it's not very in character, but this is how I wanted it to go, so tough.**

John walked toward the door of 221B, carrying 2 large shopping bags. The Doctor followed merrily, holding a small cup of pick-a-mix despite the fact that most of the stuff John had brought had been at his request. The Doctors face beamed as he found a large fizzy cola bottle, and he popped it in his mouth with a smile. He smiled at John, who had put the bags on the pavement as he fished around in his pocket for his house keys. The Doctor was about to get out his Sonic Screwdriver when John finally found his keys, and unlocked the door. He was frowning slightly.

"John, are you okay?" The Doctor asked, picking a strawberry chocolate mouse out of the cup and biting into it. John seemed a bit distracted when he answered.

"Something's… wrong."

The Doctor frowned, and then shrugged. Probably just a thing.

John picked up the shopping bags, and opened the front door. He walked through the doorway, and then stopped, causing the sugar-coated Doctor to walk into his back. They could hear a commotion upstairs; crashing and shouting and breaking glass. The Doctor looked at John, just as John looked back at him with fear, before dropping the bags in front of the stairs and rushing up to the flat. The Doctor followed John in hot pursuit, and reached the top of the stairs milliseconds after him. The living room door was wide open, and they could see the cause of the noise.

A battered, bleeding Sherlock was picking up a chair, and bringing it up into an arc, it's destination a mysterious blue police box that was in the middle of the room.

"_NO_!" The Doctor shouted, a little be-late as the legs of the chair were hurled manically at the police box, the legs splintering under impact, hundreds of sharp splinters lacerating the air. The Doctor and John covered their faces with their arms reflexively, feeling the sharp hot pain of the splinters cutting their face and arms. They both cautiously lowered their arms, and entered the room. The Doctor rushed over to the strange blue box, and patted its sides affectionately, like it was alive. John found Sherlock, who was curled up in the corner. He was hugging his knees to his chest, and his face was covered. His hair was a mess of wild curls, and his blue dressing gown was ripped and torn.

John rushed over to Sherlock, being careful not to break anything else. He knelt next to Sherlock carefully, making sure that he wasn't going to get hurt by the sharp debris that littered the floor. What had happened? How had the box got here? Why had Sherlock tried to attack it? What was going on here? There were too many unanswered questions, but they could wait. Now, he needed to be the medical doctor.

"Sherlock, are you ok?" he asked, concerned for the well-being of his flatmate. Sherlock, however, did not reply.

"Sherlock, are you ok?" he asked a little louder, in case Sherlock had not heard (although he knew that wasn't the case). Sherlock shook his head slightly, while still keeping it hunched down. John sighed. He needed to see if Sherlock was injured, goodness knows what sort of things he had thrown at the sturdy box!

"Sherlock let me see your face." He said, reaching a hand to raise Sherlock's head, but he shook his head and turned away.

"Sherlock! I need to help!" but Sherlock just shook his head again.

"Sherlock!"

Why was Sherlock not co-operating? Normally, Sherlock was reluctant for John to nurse him, claiming that he would be fine, but he had never been like this. There were no witty remarks, no insults, no complaints and no far-fetched explanations. This was _not_ like Sherlock, not at all. He looked back at the Doctor for help, but he merely looked back with a look of worried concern, and turned back to pat the blue box. He would like to know why the Doctor was stroking the blue box, but at the moment, there were more pressing issues. Like his flatmate.

John shuffled over the Sherlock, who was still curled up with his knees to his chest and his face covered.

"Sherlock, I want to_ help_ you. But you've got to let me."

Sherlock didn't respond, but he seemed to be listening.

"Sherlock, I need to see if you're ok. You're my friend, and that's what friends do. But you have to let me, or I can't help you. Please?"

Sherlock seemed to consider it for a moment. It seemed to stretch on forever to John, but it was probably only a few seconds. Finally, Sherlock raised his head, ever so slightly, so that John could just about see his eyes in the shadow that was his face. His eyes were so _afraid_, so _alone_, so _childlike_ and so _unlike_ Sherlock's eyes that John was lost for words. And, as impossible as it sound, Sherlock was _crying_. Not crocodile tears, as John had seen before, but genuine _crying_. Sherlock was so confused and alone and John couldn't bear it. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, and rocked his gently back and forth, making small 'hush' noises and patting his shoulder slowly. Sherlock at first was tense, but he relaxed after a while, and let John rock him back and forth.

**That was chapter 2. If you would like me to continue, then please leave me a review. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm sorry** **I haven't updated for a long time. I'm so, so sorry.  
My excuse is that I had the previous chapters and the next chapters sorted, story-wise, but not this one. Strange, I know. Also, I have been focusing on trying to finish 'Ice Cold Killer'. Unsuccessfully, may I just add.**

**ANYWAY, as a gift, I suppose a Doctor Who 50th anniversary gift, I give you two chapters. Yes, TWO! :D  
Now you may read on. Enjoy.**

John had finally managed to calm Sherlock down enough that he was willing to be doctored. The Doctor stood next to the blue box, looking down with concern at Sherlock. John was just bandaging up his arm, which had got the receiving end of one of the glass cups that now lay shattered on the floor. The Doctor had managed to sweep most of the wreckage into a corner, but there were still small shards of glass and splinters, so they had to be careful to avoid more injury.

John finally finished wrapping up Sherlock's arm. He was satisfied with his work for the moment, so he ticked it off his mental list and moved down to the next most important thing.

"Sherlock, what happened?"

Sherlock had once again adopted the position of knees drawn up against his chest, but it wasn't as pronounced as earlier.

"Sherlock, what happened?"

Sherlock stayed silent. He was obviously terrified of what had happened with the box. Not just terrified of what had happened, John suspected, but also terrified that he could in no way explain what had happened. In the time that John had been in 221B, Sherlock had only ever doubted himself twice. Once, at Baskerville, when there had been that drug thing in the mist triggering fear and hallucinations. And then when Sherlock had jumped off St. Bart's.

"Sherlock, tell me what happened."

Sherlock shook his head, and then hid it behind his knees. Why wouldn't he tell him?

"Sherlock, I need to know. This is my flat too."

"I-I was here. In the living room. And then, and then that _thing_ appeared." He said, pointing at the blue box.

"Oi! That's my TARDIS!" the Doctor exclaimed, rather annoyed at Sherlock calling the box a thing.

Sherlock glared at him. The Doctor glared back.

"Okay, okay boys! Doctor, we didn't know it had a name. Sherlock, the Doctor is pretty attached to his box. Sherlock, you can continue."

"The box. It just… _materialized_ in here." John frowned. Had Sherlock gone insane? John glanced back at the Doctor, who had a slightly worried look on his face.

"I put my hand on the box. I could feel it. The box… it's_ alive_."

"What? Sherlock, how can a box be ali-"

"John, it's true. The TARDIS is alive."

John's eyes widened. He looked at the box, and was sure that it was puffing its chest in pride. But it was just a_ box_. Right? He looked back at Sherlock, wondering why Sherlock was so messed up by this little fact. Sure, it turned some physic laws on their heads, but surely something as small couldn't fell someone like the Great Consulting Detective?

"And then, th-the doors, they unlocked."

The Doctor looked at Sherlock suddenly.

"What? But the doors only open to _me_."

And then the Doctor realised something.

"Oh no! No no no no no!" he knelt down beside Sherlock.

"Sherlock. Did you see inside the TARDIS?" he asked slowly, as if he was afraid of the answer.

Sherlock merely nodded. The Doctor closed his eyes, as if willing himself to wake up from a particularly nasty nightmare. Unfortunately, it wasn't a nightmare, and he opened his eyes to a concerned John.

"What's wrong? What's inside the TARDIS that Sherlock mustn't see?"

"Everything."

"What?"

"John, go and look inside the TARDIS."

"Why?"

"Just go and see. Walk around a bit. You'll understand."

John sighed. He needed to talk to Sherlock. But it appeared he wasn't going to understand until he saw what was inside the TARDIS that Sherlock shouldn't have seen. He stood up and walked towards the blue box.

"NO! JOHN STOP!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Here** **is the other chapter I promised. This was going to be a cliff-hanger, but that would be cruel seeing how long it took me to update this, so it is a sort of semi-cliff-hanger. More of a step-hanger or ledge-hanger. Not a building-hanger (especially not a certain hospital-hanger).**

John stopped suddenly when he heard Sherlock shout at him. Sherlock never shouted warnings at people unless they really were in trouble. What was Sherlock scared of in the small blue box that could barely fit two people in?

"What? What's wrong?" John asked.

"Sherlock, John will be fine. He'll cope." The Doctor told Sherlock.

"No he won't Doctor. He really won't."

"Yes he will. His mind isn't like yours." The Doctor said.

"Okay, I'm confused. Could someone explain what is inside the TARDIS thing?" John said. He was really not getting it. What the hell was the Doctor talking about? 'He'll cope', what was that supposed to mean? What could John cope with, that Sherlock couldn't? And why was Sherlock so convinced that he mustn't go in?

"John, it's really easier if I show you. Go inside the TARDIS."

"Can't you just tell me?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Of course I would." John told the Doctor.

"You would think I'm mad. Well, more mad…" The Doctor said, gesturing with his hands, for some reason. John decided that there was no point pushing the Doctor, because he wasn't going to get any more useful any time soon. He started towards the box, when Sherlock shouted at him again.

"NO! STAY AWAY!"

"Sherlock, what's wrong? Is there something dangerous in there?"

"Yes. More dangerous than your tiny mind could comprehend."

"_Sherlock_." John said.

"Sherlock, there's nothing in there. And there's nothing tiny about John's mind." The Doctor said.

"Exactly what I was thinking. Thank you Doctor." John said. At least he had someone on his side, who understood Sherlock.

The Doctor beamed. "Anytime."

Sherlock stood up suddenly, and marched up the John. He stopped just inches away from his.

"John. You don't understand."

"OF COURSE I DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

"John, listen. Whatever is in that box thing, it's dangerous. You can't go in there."

"There is nothing_ dangerous_ about my box! And it's called a TARDIS, not a _box thing!"_ the Doctor said, clearly annoyed.

Everyone seemed to glare at each other for a moment. Finally John spoke.

"Look, this is getting ridiculous! Ether you tell me why that box- sorry, TARDIS is so mind-bending that Sherlock struggles with it, or I go in and find out myself. And don't give me that look Sherlock, have you seen yourself in a mirror recently?"

John turned to go into the TARDIS, but Sherlock grabbed his shoulder and swung him around, which took John by surprise.

"NO! John, you don't understand. You can't go in there. It's not safe."

"I'm sure I'll be fine Sherlock-"

"No you won't."

"Sherlock, I'm sure I can handle whatever's in there if you-"

"That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

The Doctor put the key in the TARDIS, and was about to unlock the door when he noticed the silence in the flat. He turned around slowly, to see Sherlock and John looking at him, both with a look of horror on their faces. Sherlock's voice was a whisper.

"Doctor. Don't do it."

The Doctor looked at them.

"Doctor, step away from the TARDIS." John warned him.

Again, there was silence from the TimeLord.

"Doctor…" Sherlock started.

But before another warning could be issued, before another look of horror could be given, before another syllable could be uttered, the Doctor turned around, turned the key and pushed open the doors to his TARDIS.

At least, that's what he tried to do. But alas, the doors would not budge. Not one inch. The Doctor hammered on the doors, and then kicked them in frustration. He then grabbed his foot in his hand in a rather comic way, like one of those old cartoons when 100kg weights land on characters feet. He cradled his offended foot in his hand, and finally looked up at the other two's faces. John's face was plastered with relief, while Sherlock's face promised agonizing death. In fact, the Doctor was pretty sure that Sherlock was subjecting him the agonizing death right at that very moment, so he slowly lowered his foot and calculated an escape plan.

**Please do review. I shall give you an imaginary slice of cake. Cake for everyone.  
Reviews make me update faster. I'm not joking.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the wait, I know some of you are getting a bit annoyed. I'm sorry. I have been busy restarting Ice Cold Killer, that I had put on a bit of a pause. It is very depressing.  
Please enjoy your chapter. Over and out.  
PS. I enjoy making my characters angry and childish, so yeah.**

"Doctor…" Sherlock started, his voice dangerously low and almost dragon-like. His eyes were like burning coals.

The Doctor backed away slowly from Sherlock, looking for a way to get out.

"Sherlock." John said.

Sherlock slowly advanced on the Doctor, his glare like the burning fires of hell skewering the Doctor.

"_Sherlock_." John said again.

Sherlock stood centimetres away from the Doctor, his face of thunder and piercing eyes pinning the Doctor to the spot. He opened his mouth to speak-

"_Sherlock!" _John shouted, milliseconds before the Doctor died of pure terror at the hands of Sherlock. "Enough." Sherlock backed away from the Doctor, but his eyes didn't leave him for a second.

"I said _enough_, Sherlock. Now stop it!"

Sherlock finally looked away, at John. "He could have killed you. Again."

"It doesn't mean you get to pulverise him with your dark face and eyes of utter oblivion."

"But-"

"No buts. You are not going to stare the Doctor to death. Yes?"

Sherlock huffed. "Fiiiine." He said, and sulked off, leaving the Doctor and John in the living room.

"What did you think you were doing? You could have gotten us killed!"

"But there's nothing in there!" the Doctor whined. He and Sherlock were both geniuses, and both whiny children. It was a nightmare.

"Well then why won't the TARDIS let you in?" John asked, folding his arms.

"Because, Because, Because, well, I don't know!" the Doctor said, frustrated. Why did people always think he had the answers?

"Maybe it was because there was something dangerous in there that it didn't want you to see? Maybe it was protecting you?"

The Doctor thought about it. John _did_ have a point. But how had it gotten inside his TARDIS? And why had the TARDIS let Sherlock in, but not him? Surely he was more prepared to fight an alien monster than Sherlock was? Sherlock hadn't even been into space yet, for goodness sake.

"mmh, possible."

John put a hand on his forehead, fed up of so-called geniuses exiting reality in the middle of a conversation. Who did they think they were?

"Someday Doctor, you're gonna get us killed. For real."

"mmh." The Doctor said, obviously not listening.

"You should really get a blue Dalek, Doctor. I think it would suit you." John commented.

"mmh, sounds good." The Doctor agreed. John smirked; it wasn't all that hard fooling geniuses. The Doctor frowned, obviously noticing his smirk.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just… admiring your bowtie."

"Yes, see? Bowties are cool! Did you hear that Sherlock!? Bowties are cool!" he called, eager the rub it in Sherlock's face. Sherlock, however, was not tempted to argue with him, and decided to ignore him. The Doctor went back into his head, and John decided that he should probably go on his laptop. Nothing much was going to happen for a while yet.

It was a little past 2 o'clock in the morning when John noticed it. The normally silent or loud flat was punctuated by small creaks coming from downstairs. John had no idea what could be making the noise, so he abandoned sleeping and went down to investigate. He left his warm bed, put his dressing gown and slippers on, got his gun, and opened his door as quietly as possible. Fortunately, he had had it oiled recently, due to an incisive creaking, so it opened smoothly and silently. He crept down the stairs, being careful to tread on the outsides so that he didn't make a noise, and entered the living room quietly. There, in the middle of the room, was the TARDIS, and Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

**Two chapters at once! Now aren't you all a lucky bunch!  
Can I just point out, this story was originally going to be a snippet of a larger story that I have stored in my head, waiting to be written. I wasn't going to write it all, but now I have to, so it may take me a while.  
Another note: I was thinking of the singing Ood with Donna and 10 when I was writing this. So it sounds a bit like them, in my head. Sorry.**

"Sherlock?" John whispered, eager not to wake the neighbours. They were woken up by Sherlock's boredom often enough. Sherlock jumped, and came at John in a flash, getting him in a headlock and pointing his own gun at his head.

"Shrluk." John mumbled, the air having been knocked out of him. Sherlock instantly dropped John when he heard the familiar voice, and John fell to the floor, panting.

"John! Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, visibly worried although he was wearing a mask of indifference. John nodded, more focused on gulping air back into his empty lungs. He took a moment to recover before standing up again.

"So much for silence." John said, making Sherlock smile. He then pointed at the TARDIS.

"How did this get in here? I thought the Doctor took it away?"

"He did."

"So how is it here?"

"I don't know. It just materialized."

"Does the Doctor know?"

"No."

"We need to tell him Sherlock."

"Can't. His phone is in the TARDIS, and we don't have enough time to go and get him. The TARDIS could just as easily leave again."

"Why did it materialize here though? The Doctor didn't do it, and there's no one else who can drive it."

"I don't know. Maybe the TARDIS drove itself here?" Sherlock said.

"Is that even possible?"

"Yes. It came to us the first time."

"But why?"

"Maybe it needs help." Sherlock offered. They both looked at the TARDIS, trying to puzzle it out. There were so many questions, and so little answers.

"Then why not go to the Doctor? Why come to us? I presume it wants us, and not Mrs Hudson or something…" John said.

"No, it's definitely here to see us. But choosing us over the Doctor, I'm not sure. The whole ship is an enigma. It defies logic and science and what we know to be true, and yet it is not the product of some hallucion on drug-induced state. How can it possibly exist?" Sherlock looked at John, a look of overwhelming confusion, and also fear. Sherlock couldn't understand this oddity, and it scared him.

"Maybe we should leave it to morning."

Sherlock's face suddenly became blank and his eyes unfocused, like when he was in his mind palace, minus the hands. It was like he was listening to something impossibly quiet, that only he could hear.

"Sh-Sherlock?" John asked nervously. It was not like Sherlock to suddenly be in his mind palace when he was asking questions. What was going on?

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes flickered open, and he looked at John.

"Can you not hear it?"

"What? Hear what?"

"The ship."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The TARDIS, it's, it's… screaming. Can you not hear it?" Sherlock asked, looking towards John. But his eyes were in a different place, and he didn't see John look at him in confusion. His eyes were sparkling, and his voice was soft and sad.

"No Sherlock."

Sherlock finally looked at John.

"Let me show you."

"Okay."

Sherlock stepped towards John and placed tips of his fingers on the side of his head. He closed his eyes, and his face became blank, and he put his forehead against John's. Suddenly, John could hear it. It was like a horribly melody, there was a beautiful voice of a machine, and it was screaming, high notes of beautiful but horrible noise, almost like opera. There was a grinding, grating noise, but it was sick and unwell, uneven and shuddering and spluttering like a broken engine. There was a noise that could only be described as time, and it undulated and creased and then spread out thin like a pancake. There was another noise and it was ripping and being torn apart, and there was a noise of blue that was melting and freezing and burning at E#, and it was all coming from the TARDIS.

John stepped back from Sherlock, cutting the feed, and his head was quiet. The noises he had heard were horribly, and he didn't want to hear anymore. He looked at Sherlock with bleary eyes.

"You can still hear it, can't you."

Sherlock nodded.

"How?"

"The TARDIS, it seems to like me." Sherlock said, looked at the ground.

"Can we stop it? Can we stop the screaming?"

"I don't know. But it's horrible."

"It is."

Sherlock covered his ears with his hands and screwed his eyes shut.

"Sherlock?" John asked, worried about his friend who could still hear the TARDIS screaming.

"John! You have to make it stop!" Sherlock pleaded, tears streaming down his face, which was grimaced in pain.

"Please! Make it stop!" Sherlock begged. What sort of atrocities could he hear in his head? Did John even want to know?

"Sherlock, I can't. I don't know how." John said, panicking.

"Just stop it! Please!" Sherlock begged.

"_Sherlock, try deleting it."_ John said.

"What?"

_"Try deleting the sound. Like you do with unimportant things."_ John said.

Sherlock stood still for a moment, and then slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands. His face was a mess.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes. I'm fine now…Thank you."

"But the screaming is still happening?" John asked, although it was more of a statement.

"Yes. We need to stop it."

"But we don't even know why it's screaming."

"I think I do. That creature in there, it's making the TARDIS scream."

"But you said it was dangerous. That thing could kill us." John reminded Sherlock.

"That _thing_ is killing the TARDIS!" Sherlock replied.

**The things will probably be revealed next chapter. Things always seem to get in the way, and I have been keeping you long enough. Here's a free imaginary cookie for reading *gives cookie* thanks!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I must apologise to all my reviewers and favouriters (although seriously, who favourites an unfinished story but doesn't review it?). I have been very busy. But the good news is, I'm back. And so are Sherlock and John. Thank you guys! :D**

Sherlock and John walked down the dark corridor. The lights above them were dim, much dimmer than in the control room. The walls were smooth and had hexagons in the sides, and the corridor was wide and long. John looked behind him, to see the corridor snake off to the right. He frowned. When they had reached this corridor, they had been at a fork in the road, so to speak. There had been two different corridors to take. But now there was one. How was that? Could the TARDIS change its interior? And if so, why would it do so? John had learnt in his time with Sherlock that everything had a reason. So what was the reason for this?

"So… what are we looking for?" John asked. He wasn't entirely sure what the plan was, or if they even had a plan. And it made him feel on edge.

"Were looking for a hovering entity. It can be any colour of shape, and it's approximately this big" Sherlock held his hands about half a metre apart "although that is subject to change. It's fast, and it might be invisible."

"So basically, I'm looking for a flying thing, that I might or might not be able to see, or no specific size or shape." John said.

"Pretty much."

"Oh, and also it can read your mind."

"Wait, what?" John asked.

"Oh please, you do know I hate to repeat myself." Sherlock said.

"But you said it can read my mind."

"So I did."

"But that's impossible." John told him.

"Would I tell you it could read your mind if it were impossible."

"Well no but-"

"Exactly. Don't think I find this easy to accept." Sherlock warned.

John sighed. Sherlock was being _ever_ so helpful. At times like this, he felt he should get a medal just for not strangling the git.

"You're thinking about strangling me, aren't you." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly.

"How the hell could you possibly know tha-"

"I didn't know anything. I simply observed."

John looked at Sherlock, willing him to continue.

"You're angry. You don't like it when people interrupt you like that. You don't like to be proved wrong about things that you think are obvious. I know you were thinking about strangling me because your hands clenched. They only do that if you're thinking of hitting someone, or in this case when you're thinking of strangling someone. If you were thinking of hitting me, only you're right hand would have clenched, but both of your hands did, and they also twisted slightly. That means that you want to strangle me. And now you're panicking that I can read you like a book."

John just gaped at Sherlock.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm a genius. And yes, I can read you like a book most of the time. But then, I can read most people like a book. It's not that difficult."

John just carried on gaping at Sherlock. Sherlock got bored and continued to walk through the corridor, oblivious to John gold-fish impressions. John finally snapped out of it, and he hastily walked towards Sherlock.

Sherlock put a hand out to stop John. John looked at him in confusion and Sherlock shot him a look of 'be quiet, and be ready to run'. John tried to peer around the corner of the corridor, trying to see why Sherlock was stopping him. He did not, however, make a noise. He knew enough by now to not question when Sherlock told him to be quiet when were was danger. Sherlock seemed to have a knack for these sorts of things.

Sherlock suddenly became very tense. John strained to look around the corner of the corridor, and stumbled slightly. The slight noise echoed around the silent corridor, and travelled to the next one. Sherlock looked at John with his 'you idiot' look, and walked backwards slowly. John followed his lead, and was a few steps away before he tripped on his own feet and tumbled to the ground. He heard something in the other corridor, and he watched with terror as something came around the corner and saw them.

Sherlock picked John up, and put him on his feet. John's mind caught up with his body and he started running, running away from the thing that was now behind them. Sherlock was a few steps in front of him, and he ran to get away from the thing that he now realised was following them. John turned the corridor, and ran down a corridor he was sure didn't exist twenty seconds earlier. All he could hear was the thumping of his feet against the ground, in sync with the thumping of his heart. But he didn't care about keeping quiet now. All he cared about was getting the hell out of there.

Sherlock tripped when a crate suddenly materialized in front of them. He landed flat on his face, his cheek getting cut by the sharp edge of the crate. John had over-shot him, but he ran back and tugged Sherlock to his feet, and tried to get him to start running again. Sherlock looked at John with a line of blood across his cheek, and a slightly dazed expression. He looked down at his feet. He couldn't seem to get them to co-operate. He tried running, but he fell over again, barely managing to land on his hands. The world tilted slightly, like it was not fastened to place. He shook his head, and got to his feet again. John was shouting at him, but Sherlock could not connect his voice to the movement of his lips. It was out of sync. Sherlock shook his head at John, unable to comprehend what John was saying. Suddenly, white pain exploded across his face. John had slapped him!

"_John_!"

"_Damnit Sherlock_, run!" John shouted. The sound hit Sherlock like a tidal wave. And so they ran.

* * *

Sherlock and John ran down another corridor, and another. The creature was sufficiently behind them that they didn't need to run, so they stopped. John leaned against the side of the corridor, catching his breath.

"So what was that all about?"

"Oh, you mean my fall back there?"

"Yeah."

"That creature. It can read people's minds. It can control them. When I took that fall, my mind was temporarily open. Normally, my mind is shut off, but that crate surprised me. I let my defences down, and that creature thing got into my mind. It couldn't control me, because my mind was too strong, but it cut the communication with my legs. Well, most of it. I could move, but I wasn't very co-ordinated. That's why I couldn't run."

"So, it could get into my mind."

"Technically, yes. But now it's been inside my head, it probably wouldn't settle for being in yours. Far too ordinary." Sherlock said.

John looked at Sherlock with a stern face, but Sherlock wasn't interested. John wished Sherlock would just stop belittling everyone around him. Yes, maybe he was a genius. But it didn't give him the right to act like he was superior to everyone else.

"So what's are plan to-"

John stopped talking when he saw the creature round the corner. It was a bubbling, fuming mass of orange and yellow and red. It was a circle of orange-ness, but when it moved it seemed to develop a tail, like a comet would, and it was streaked with yellow and red. It was like the sun. He could feel the anger seething off it, could feel the rage twist and turn inside it like a caged animal. He could feel those thoughts in his own mind, the thought of anger and betrayal, but he ignored them. It was just the creature trying to turn him against Sherlock. He wouldn't do that.

The creature shrieked with anger, and Sherlock and John ran. They ran down another corridor, straight into the console room. Except it was red, and all the other doors were closed off. John could feel the creature tearing at the TARDIS with rage, ripping and it with its hatred and insane anger. He couldn't hear the TARDIS screaming, but he knew it was happening. He also knew that there was no escape, because the creature stood, or more accurately floated, in between them, and the only exit.

**Thank you for reading. Next chapter will be uploaded as soon as possible, but that might not be for a long time. So sorry. **


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